


the least ray of light.

by monstermetaphor



Category: Carmilla - All Media Types, Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu, Community (TV)
Genre: Biting, Darkest Timeline, Dreams, F/F, Inspired by Carmilla, Mildly dubious consent if you’ve read the novel you know what to expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermetaphor/pseuds/monstermetaphor
Summary: Something else was moving in the dream - or someone. She caught a flash of wavy dark hair, or the curve of raspberry-pink lips, and heard a voice, mewling, feminine, and painfully familiar. Then came the pain. It was as if twin icicles were drilled into the hollow of her throat.(An Annie/Britta fic set in the Darkest Timeline, inspired partially by Carmilla the novel)
Relationships: Annie Edison & Abed Nadir, Annie Edison/Britta Perry, Evil Annie Edison/Evil Britta Perry, mentions of Jeff Winger / Britta Perry
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	the least ray of light.

**Author's Note:**

> title is a quote from Carmilla the novel, credit to J. Sheridan Le Fenu for the inspiration. Dan Harmon and The Russo Brothers own Community and it’s characters.

In the nights after Pierce’s death, Britta was plagued with nightmares. Often she watched the entire night unfold as it had, and there was nothing she could do to change the course of events. She just screamed and pleaded with herself, with anyone, to stop it, to stop Jeff. 

Other times it was very different. Sometimes everything worked out okay. Sometimes there was dancing and singing. One time she and Troy kissed. He tasted like a candy cigarette. Sometimes it was someone else who died, Troy or Jeff or Annie...sometimes it was herself. These were the worst because she woke up feeling guilty that it wasn’t real. Jeff would tease her for her martyr act, if he was in a space to see humor in anything at all. She wanted to scream. 

Then... after the first month or so, her dream became sleeker. Darker. Yet quieted, like a pool of water under a moonlight night sky. She was in her apartment, and there was something on the floor. Maybe it was the cats. Yes that made sense! But sometimes she caught a glance of it and it was... feline for sure, but scaled. Cold-blooded, like a lizard. 

Something else was moving in the dream - or someone. She caught a flash of wavy dark hair, or the curve of raspberry-pink lips, and heard a voice, mewling, feminine, and painfully familiar. Then came the pain. It was as if twin icicles were drilled into the hollow of her throat. The first time it was agony. Britta let out a guttural scream, which was cut off by a black gloved hand over her mouth. But she could never move. For one thing, any messages her brain was sending to run were rejected by her body. Secondly, she found she didn’t really want to, or at least that she wanted to stay more than she wanted to run away, even with the urge buzzing beneath her skin. Something about that voice... she’d stay, she wanted to stay. And it was better than thinking about the reality she’d been living in, the drunk Shirley and furious Jeff, more delusional than usual Abed and Troy, no Pierce, Annie...

But gradually, the pain ebbed. In fact her body reacted with pleasure to those shiver-inducing sensation across her neck and eventually, her chest (she wore a white dress in every dream, but it was less of a wedding gown and more something Dracula would make one of his drones wear, or however that worked she’d only seen half of the movie). During the daytime, she was a mess, sometimes shivering with goosebumps from neck to naval, other times feverish. The others were whispering about her, the bags under her eyes and how strange she’d been acting. 

Jeff even came out of his funk for a minute, to ask if she was alright and bring her some wool to knit. “Since your wearing scarves so often.” She hadn’t noticed, but it was true. She wore them almost every day. When Jeff had left, grumbling about her attention-seeking nature, she yanked the blue-as-the-streak-in-her-hair accessory away to find purple bruises around her collar bones. Looking under her shirt, she realized marking extended to the top of her breasts. She shook her head. There must be some explanation. Maybe she’d gotten high, and then banged into a wall or the bathtub or something. Or maybe she’d gotten high off something Starburns had dealt her, and now she was seeing things that weren’t there. Or maybe she’d gotten high and banged Starburns...again...no, she was relatively sure that hadn’t happened.   
If she was high, she figured she’d sleep it off until the evening. 

It was a week later, and Britta was sitting in the waiting room to Greendale’s Asylum. She was one of the only study group members who kept up contact with Annie in person. Abed went more often than she did, determined to break through to her with his ‘other timelines’ theory. This would have worried Britta, if she hadn’t seen first hand that Abed really was the one who could best reach this Annie when she was in a state. Troy wrote her letters, Shirley (when she was sober) sent her wishes with both of them. Jeff felt too guilty to see her, in fact he tensed to a breaking point when anyone so much as said her name. Eventually they just pretended Annie Edison had never existed anytime Jeffrey Winger was in the room. 

Britta was lead to room 490, Annie’s cell. Annie wore a hospital robe, just like always. And just like always, at first she was the same old Annie.   
“Britta!” she cried out, her face alight with excitement. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” 

Britta smiled back. “Hi, Annie. We miss you.” 

Annie was studying her now, looking more contemplative. “Britta... are you sure your well? You don’t look well at all. Did you get enough sleep last night?” 

Britta hesitated, then shook her head. “I’ve been having... strange dreams.” 

“About that night?” cried Annie, sniffling. “I have too. I dream about it every night. Except...” she bit her lower lip. 

“Except?” asked Britta. 

“It’s silly,” Annie said. “Sometimes I dream that there’s... a cat or a lizard on the floor. Everything’s dark. And there’s this girl in the room with me. Taller than I am, by about an inch. Blonde. Wearing a white dress. There’s something...compelling about her.” She makes purposeful eye contact with Britta, blue eyes piercing. “But I know not to trust her. I think she might hurt me.” Britta stared. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Annie’s voice had been creeping upward, until it sounded like a kitten’s mewl rather than a human voice. 

“I...” Britta stuttered. She needed to get away, to make sense of what was happening. What couldn’t be happening. “I have to go.” 

Annie looked mournful. “But wait! You just got here, why don’t you...” Her eyes went wide. “Oh. I see, your scared too. You think I’m crazy, wrong Annie.” 

“That’s not true...” 

Annie let out a scream. She launched herself at Britta, teeth bared. 

Teeth...

Immediately an alarm blared, security guards restrained Annie by her wrists as she laughed and laughed and laughed. Britta ran to her car, collapsing into the front seat. What just happened?


End file.
